Bea frowned mutinously.
“And no doubt Rose wants to spend some time alone with her parents.” He nudged his daughter’s shoulder. “Let’s go find our table, sweet Bea.”
The older woman clapped a hand over her heart. “Sweet Bea? Oh, that’s so lovely.”
“We’re not Rosie’s parents, although we wish we were.” The older man seemed to age two decades before Martin’s eyes, sagging back into his seat with slumped shoulders. “Are you certain you can’t dine with us?”
Rose’s mother—or not her mother, apparently, but obviously some sort of near relation—had transformed over the past few seconds. Was that…was that a hunch?
He could have sworn her posture had been just as impeccable as Rose’s.
“Please say you and your daughter will join us for dinner.” Her small, graceful hand appeared to have a newfound tremor. “Seeing such a sweet young face across the table would be so wonderful.”
Oh, Jesus. Only a churl could refuse such a wistful invitation.
Bea poked him in the ribs. “Dad.”
Rose’s not-parents blinked soulfully up at him, eyes sad but hopeful.
Martin smothered a sigh and mentally prepared for an awkward evening. But before he could speak, Rose braced her hands on her hips and turned to her dinner companions.
“Drop the act, you two,” she told them, her tone affectionate but firm. “You can play the doddering-elderly-couple game with me, because I know you’re both perfectly happy and healthy. But Martin and Bea don’t know the rules, and they might not want to participate.”
The older woman’s posture improved with remarkable speed. “Excellent point, Rosie. Our apologies, Martin and Bea.”
“Yes, indeed. Please excuse us.” The other man offered an abashed smile, shoulders broad and square once more. “Rosie tells us we absorbed the lessons of a long-ago acting class with lamentable enthusiasm.”
Rose shook her head in fond exasperation. “Martin and Bea, please meet my former parents-in-law, Annette and Alfred Buckham. They might want you two to eat dinner at our table, but they’re not in any danger of expiring during the meal if you refuse. Feel free to say no. That said, you’re more than welcome to join us.”
As Rose raised her brows in inquiry, Bea poked Martin again in silent entreaty.
It was his daughter’s birthday. He should follow her lead.
Besides, he wanted to spend time with Rose. Wanted to know more about her personal life. Wanted to keep sneaking glances at her from across a table and bask in her presence.
“Okay.” He raised his hands in surrender. “If you’re sure this isn’t an intrusion, we’d be delighted to have dinner with you.”
While Annette, Alfred, and Bea all beamed at him, Rose swiveled to scan the restaurant. “Let me catch our server and tell him to bring us more chairs and hold our food until you’ve ordered.”
He shook his head. “I’ll take care of it.”
She muttered something aboutperformative masculinityandinsufficient therapy, but she let him help seat her, as well as Annette, while Alfred directed a genial smile at the table at large. And she didn’t try to stop Martin from hunting down the server, who was more than delighted to add another couple of people to his table—not to mention his tip.
As Martin rejoined the group, he studied all its members. Rose was holding out a hank of her skirt—some sort of flouncy black fabric—for Bea to touch, while his daughter studied it and chattered away. His girl seemed perfectly comfortable in Rose’s presence, as if the two had talked a million times before. Maybe they had.
He’d be asking Bea about that on the way home.
The sight of Rose herself nearly hurt his eyes, she was so fucking beautiful. He had to look away, before he revealed entirely too much to both her and his daughter.
That left two people: Rose’s former in-laws. He could have used Annette’s spine as his classroom ruler. Alfred radiated well-seasoned strength, rather than elderly frailty.
That must have been one hell of an acting class.
Performing skills aside, they were wise enough to want Rose as their daughter and gaze at her with open pride and affection as she charmed Bea.
He liked them already.
After dinner together, he could only hope they’d feel the same way toward him.
